


Pride, Prejudice and the Art of Deals

by redretroconverse



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, book rewrite, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:06:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redretroconverse/pseuds/redretroconverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that every widower with a good fortune and a horrendous temper must be in the market for an opinionated, willful wife with no fortune of her own. Rumbelle AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Welcome to Society

**Pride, Prejudice and the Art of Deals**

**Summary: It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that every widower with a good fortune and a horrendous temper must be in the market for an opinionated, willful wife with no fortune of her own.**

* * *

"Miss Belle?" Belle heard the slight, telltale footfalls of Mr. Hopper outside her room and stuffed her book under her pillow, grabbing her embroidery up from its sitting place. Emma looked over at her wryly, having abandoned her own embroidery hours ago and had occupied herself playing with some yarn, whilst thoughtfully looking out the window.

Mr. Hopper knocked, and Belle startled, needling herself in the finger.

"Miss Belle? Your father is asking for you. If Miss Emma is with you, tell her to come as well." The footsteps faded down the hallway.

Belle pressed her finger against her gown, smiling wryly at the girl they had found shivering on their doorstep 12 years ago. "He may have finally solved the problem of our singularity." Emma smirked, getting up and brushing down the wrinkles on her dress.

"The problem of our singularity?" Emma raised an eyebrow mockingly. "I thought you rather enjoyed it." She reached for the door and held it open for Belle, and closed it behind her. It was a habit Emma had picked up when she had come to live here; holding doors open and acting as if she too, was part of the staff. It was a habit that Belle time and time again had berated her for, because she knew it stemmed from guilt that they had to support and feed her. It was unfounded guilt, and while Belle would normally tell her off for it, she was too preoccupied with thoughts of what her father would say to them. She knew that her father's business in agriculture was suffering, and that money was tight - which meant one thing, for a girl of little fortune - marriage.

"I do..." Belle sighed. "It's just that time's have been hard for Papa and I fear our singleness is not helping things."

"A rich husband would." Emma said with a bitter quirk to her lips.

"Exactly." Belle said. "A  _nice_ , rich husband would be wonderful, but I suppose in times like this, it cannot be helped, even if we end up with an old coot."

They entered the sitting room where Moe French was waiting, pacing up and down as he mumbled to himself.

"Ahhh, the two most beautiful ladies in Hertfordshire." He grinned at them, but Belle could see clearly the worry that knitted under his brow. "Now girls, sit. There's news."

Belle and Emma sat, both sending each other worried looks from their respective chairs. "As you know, Netherfield Park has remained vacant since last winter. Now, however, there is a new gentleman that has let it. A gentleman of very wealthy means, I have heard." He smiled encouragingly.

"And you want us to ensnare him with our seductive ways?" Emma smiled, cocking an eyebrow at Moe, who went red.

"Seduce him with our womanly charms?" Belle cut in, but regretted it when she saw the sorrow on her father's face.

"I am sorry, my dears." He said. "But we need the money. It would be very good if you could..." He waved a hand at them, not wanting to put it to words. "If you could aim for marriage."

Belle played with her skirts, Emma too remaining silent, which was unusual.

"There will be three gentlemen along soon." Her father continued. "A Mr. Gold, a widower, his son, Neal, a bachelor with five thousand pounds a year to his name, and his friend, Sir David Nolan, a retired young soldier with a small fortune to his name as well, though decidedly less. Still,a very good match." He said, spreading his arms wide and trying to smile somewhat hopefully, but he knew it was a poor attempt from the looks on their faces.

He smiled sadly at the silent girls that sat in front of him. He knew they were - perhaps a little different from what most expected a woman to be in this age and time, but he loved them dearly and was hard-pressed to ask this of them - especially his Belle, who had entertained notions of true love all her life. He blamed her mother for it, the romantic heart that she was.

Romance had no place in this society and it was wrong to instill such hope in their daughter. They had been lucky, but not all were and it was wrong to assume Belle was just going to fall into as happy a union.

He missed his wife.

He tilted Belle's chin up and smiled down at her. "But I'm sure  _whomever_  you marry, they will be every bit as smart as you, my dear. And every bit as kind."

Belle gave him a watery smile and he turned to Emma, giving the blonde-haired wit a stern look.

"And you Emma," he drawled, "your husband will be just as much of a headache."

Emma quirked her lips at him, but it wasn't as convincingly mischievous as it should have been.

"When are they making their debut?" Belle asked, breaking the silence.

"Tonight, dear. At the ball." Belle sucked in a breath.

"Well, I think then that we should start the preparations." Belle stood, and gave him a smile she did not yet feel.

* * *

Mr. Gold detested balls. They were the bane of his life, polite society and all be damned. The only reason he bothered with them was his son, and the boy of 25 years loved them with all his heart, and insisted his father to accompany him.

He smiled coldly at the butler who took his coat, and waded through the pool of women that were circling his son, staring down each of them distastefully. Vultures, all of them. Thank god he was past the marrying age.

He grabbed a drink and breathed into it, carefully making his way toward the far side of the room, where he was certain he could be left in peace.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" His eyes were drawn to the far left of the room; a little girl, obviously of less than well-means, had brushed against one of the gentleman. She was holding a plate of food, eyes wide and terrified as she stared at the man's coat, where there was no more than a spec of sauce. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a handsome face that was common and that Gold immediately disliked.

"Foolish child!" The man exclaimed, pushing the child roughly backward as he inspected the coats the child had brushed against. "You've dirtied my suit." He sneered, his handsome face wrinkling in an ugly fashion. "How do  _you_  expect to pay me back for this? This costs more than your carriage!" He called to an old man across the room. The man's face had gone a pale white, brow furrowing worriedly as he came to claim his whimpering child.

"Gaston." The flat voice came from across the room, and Gold's gaze was immediately drawn to the lady standing at the entrance, coat half off, and hair mussed quite unfashionably from the wind. No doubt a faulty carriage, he thought, sipping at his drink interestedly as he watched her. She was dressed in a way that alluded to her fortune much more than he thought she probably realized, her gown no doubt from a few seasons ago, but still held her chin high. No doubt a puffed up self-esteem, he thought to himself acerbically, from a doting father who fed his child with kind words rather than food.

"Does it _so_ please you to feed off the money of the poor?" She asked, the malice in her voice palpable and Gold's eyebrows raised. It was scandalous for a lady to speak so freely and bitingly with her tongue in public, especially to a man, nevertheless a man with fortune probably twice her own.

"Lady Belle -" Sir Gaston seemed to have forgotten where he put his tongue as he stared at her, eyes running over her figure like a thief sizing up a jewel. Gold smirked, and went back to nursing his drink, attention drifting as his eyes fluttered around the ballroom to his son, who seemed to have turned his attentions to a particular girl - very pretty, he himself had to admit.

He had almost forgotten about the sharp tongued girl when his son came bounding along with her in toe a while later, eyes brighter than he'd seen them in a while, and the girl dragged along, her eyes downcast and teeth worrying at her lower lip.

"Papa, this is Lady Belle French." He said, breathless and eager at the same time. Gold merely raised an eyebrow, but took the proffered girls hand and kissed it, not wanting to embarrass his son with a lack of manners.

"This is Emma's sister," he continued, gesturing to the blonde-haired girl he'd seemed quite smitten with before, "and she says she won't dance with me if Belle does not dance as well. Would you, papa? Just this once, I know you don't like - "

"Of course, Bae." He said warmly, and bowed to Belle as courteously as he could, biting back a scowl. He could deny his son nothing, but he decided he would make no attempt to be civil to the girl during the dance. She was probably the same as all the other girls of her age were - shallow and bolstered – even if she did have that mouth on her. No doubt dancing with a man as old as him, and by obligation as well, was a great blow to a blown up self-esteem, he thought, somewhat mollified by the thought.

The dance started not long after, he and -  _Belle,_  stood awkwardly opposite each other, neither one quite knowing what to do. He caught Bae's pleading gaze and sighed, proffering his hand to the girl. She took it hesitantly, and he let his other hand fall to her waist, wincing slightly at the pain in his leg.

On occasions such as balls, when the need be that he may be obligated to dance (though this was hardly), he left his cane at home. His leg would kill him the next day, but it was worth it to see his son so happy.

"What is your name?" He stared down at the girl, who had lifted her eyes to his. Big, blue and curious, he couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable.

"I believe I promised you a dance, dearie." He said, focussedly not looking at her. "Not an interrogation."

"I didn't think asking a name was as to an intrusion." She said blandly, though her eyes sparked with fire.

"Names have power, dearie." He smiled, showing his teeth. "And I really wouldn't like to think you and your sister were associating with me and my son because of our good fortune, now would I?"

Belle frowned at him, but then nodded, to his surprise, instead of acting highly offended like most ladies would have. Milah, of course, had - but being the fool he was then, he had believed her. "I suppose," she said, "but that's a rather cynical view of the world."

"A realistic view." He corrected, lip curling. "Especially in this society. Gold diggers and tramps." He gauged her reaction, but she didn't seem cowed. She seemed rather at ease, meeting his eyes with little difficulty.

"You are rather assuming," she said lightly, "especially when you haven't bothered to know anyone. I already know of your fortune, Mr. Gold," She said, chin upturned. "and I still do not care much to associate with you. " She pursed her lips, and met his eyes again, and he then could fully see how angry she was.

"So judgmental, so proud." She bit her lip, apparently attempting to squash her bad-feeling, but it was too much apparently, for her to keep in. "I despise men like you, who think so lowly of others when they themselves never stop to look at anything under their feet, seeing nothing but ill-feeling and blaming everyone except themselves. How," she asked, eyes narrowed, "can anyone show you anything good of themselves, if one is so hostile to any slight kindness anyone pays them?"

"Are you suggesting you are doing me kindness by deigning to dance with me, Miss French?" His jaw was clenched with anger at the implication, and she shook her head, the set of her own jaw suggesting equal ire.

"Well, it certainly wasn't from ill-will," she snapped. "And what I was suggesting, Mr. Gold, was that you should not judge a book so quickly by it's poor cover, or society so quickly by a few desperate women." She pulled herself from him, curtsying stiffly. "I believe we have come to the end of our dance, Mr. Gold. Thank you for the honor." She muttered, before turning and busying herself with other women.

He stood for a minute, massaging his chin as he watched the shrew mingle with the other ladies. She was at ease in the crowd, smiling and laughing. No trace of the scathing wench she had been just moments before.

He snorted, turning his back on her and the party as he strode out of the room.

"Get my carriage, man." He ordered the staff brusquely as he slipped on his coat. He waited less than patiently until Dove rode up.

"Sir?" The towering man asked, looking slightly confused.

"Take me back to the house, Dove. And then come back and wait for my son. I've had enough of society for one night."

**xxxxxxx**

"They look like they're having fun." Mary Margaret Blanchard tilted her chin at Emma and her companion and Belle would have to agree. They _did_ look like they were having fun. In fact, Belle didn't think she'd ever seen Emma smile so brightly at anyone before. It was nice.

"I have to agree." Belle said with a firm nod as she took a sip from her glass of bubbly water. "I've never seen her so enraptured, to be certain. And the man looks quite," she bit back a giggle as the man who'd introduced himself as Neal Gold spun Emma around and laughed at something she said, "quite taken with her too. All in all it looks like a very lucky match." She grinned at Mary Margaret and took another sip out of her glass before adding thoughtfully. "It's a pity his father isn't quite so agreeable." She pulled a face. "Proud, beastly,  _disagreeable_  man." She murmured, brow wrinkling thoughtfully.

Mary Margaret gave a mock gasp. "Careful now," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye. "You wouldn't want to sound like you have an opinion."

Belle was about to reply, or quip, when there was a soft cough from over her shoulder.

"Would you care to dance?"

It was Sir David, the other man who had come to stay at Netherfield with the Gold's. The retired soldier. She nodded, too scared to say a word.

He proffered her a hand and she took it.

**xxxxxxxx**

Emma had lived a long life away from boys, and it was not without reason. She didn't trust situations where she wasn't in charge, and in this society, men were  _always_  in charge.

Neal seemed different, though - he didn't seem to care about social queues or if she wanted to lead the dance - he'd let _her_  lead, and he had humor in a way she had not ever encountered before  _and_  he had a _brain_. It was more than a girl could ask for, really.

"So you're telling me..." Emma said, frowning, "that you've never ridden a horse - by yourself?" She quirked a brow at him.

Neal ran a hand through his hair, sighing dramatically. "I fear the life I've been living has been terribly inadequate. I do hope you won't hold it against me, though."

Emma smiled, snorting. "No, I shan't hold it against you..." Her eyes began to twinkle madly, and anyone who had known her for any length of time could have told Neal that he was in trouble. "I might, however, teach you to ride a horse."

**xxxxxxxxx**

Gold stared at the old grandfather clock and listened to it tick. Back and forth, back and forth.

Somewhere around half-past twelve he heard Bae and David stumble in. He snorted under his breath, a half-smile rising. His eyes flicked to the portrait on the wall. Him, Bae and Milah. His lips curled as he took a sip of Scotch.

She had been beautiful and carefree when they'd met. He remembered meeting her in that tavern somewhere off Dublin. He remembered seeing her throwing back her head and laughing at a quip he'd made about the owner. He remembered kissing her, how she tasted like wine and something stronger. He remembered thinking, 'this is love'.

And he remembered everything that came after that. 'This is love' indeed.

As he sat back, drinking, his mind ran over the night. That girl - whatever her name was - had been amusing. It had been a while since anyone had thought to speak to him that way. It was almost refreshing – he hadn't seen that brand of stupidity in a long while.

He sighed, and turned his attention back to the letter at hand.

 _My dear Rum,_ she had wrote, and he could practically hear that fake southern purr in her voice and his lips curled in disgust.  _I hope you and darling Baelfire are well. My daughter has been asking after his health. It is such a wonderful relationship they have._

_I will be arriving in Hertfordshire a fortnight from now. I know I will see you. It would be such a regret if we did not see each other, would it not?_

_Cora._

He ripped the letter in half and threw it to the flames, watching as the paper slowly burned to a crisp.


	2. A Proclivity for Cruelty

Belle spent her Saturday mornings doing the accounts. She did them in secret, of course, sneaking into her father's study while he was still in bed and counting up the sums. It was not that she did not trust her father to keep watch after his spending - it was just that... Well, she didn't.

Her father had a proclivity to be canoodled into deals. If a fortune hunter came to town with tales of a  _magical_  ship, or  _magical_  treasure, or god forbid - a  _magic_  bean had been the last one, her father was always the first to invest. He called her a skeptic, but Belle didn't mind the name as long as it ensured they had a roof over their heads.

After a while, however, Moe had figured that Belle was never going to allow him to take part in such foolishness and had begun investing behind her back. She had found this out when to their doorstep was delivered a perfectly ordinary horse and a poor, grumpy old man that demanded payment for his 'magic' stead. She had sent him off with a slap and some bread for the road.

Belle was aware that she was considered odd - more than a few gentleman had commented on it. Some were willing to overlook it - Sir Gaston, for example, was one of these men, but it was more because he was too dim to see past a pretty face than any real affection on his part. Others were more vocal about her disagreeability and unsuitability to play the part of the loving housewife that was so prized in this society. They had told her she was too vocal, too much of an upstart - she read too much and her reputation in the town had suffered a blow after her first experience with courting. She feared that if it carried on this way, she was much likely to end up being Gaston's wife. She shivered at the thought.

"Belle," she heard Emma call from behind the door, "are you there?" The door squeaked open, and Emma poked her head round it. She rubbed her eyes, yawning as she came to sit on the edge of Moe's table.

"How does it look?" She asked, peering at the papers Belle was working over.

"It  _is_  bad." Belle sighed, rubbing at her temples. "If the numbers do not rise, I fear he might lose the farm."

Emma's face dropped, and Belle could see her shoulders visibly tense. "We need to marry, Belle." She said, putting her head in her hands. "And well."

"I am  _quite_  aware." Belle said, closing the books firmly. "How do you think Mr. Neal liked you?"

"He liked me quite well." Emma said, brow furrowing as she pulled at the tips of her ponytail.

"And how did  _you_  like him?" Belle asked, pointedly.

Emma straightened. "Well, he has a head on him." She gave Belle a wan smile. "More than that egg-brain Gaston, anyhow."

Belle studied Emma, with her lips pulled in a half smile. "Maybe it's true love."

Emma stuck her tongue out at her and Belle just shook her head, and smiled ruefully as she went back to her sums.

**xxxxxx**

Gold hated going to town almost as much as he hated balls. The necessity, however, of doing both, remained.

He eyed the old man - Marco, was his name - and smiled coldly. The man returned the grin with warmly and held out a hand for him to shake. Gold shook it, looking round the place.

It was old, that much was clear, but it wasn't falling apart. In fact, dare he say it, it was very well kept. He smiled again, more genuinely.

"Is it to your satisfaction, sir?" Marco asked quietly, and he nodded briskly.

"Yes. How much will it be, then?" He eyes the time on his pocket-watch before carefully laying it back in his pocket; he had finish his business and meet Bae in a half hour. "I do not believe the value can be much over a thousand pounds, small as it is."

Marco blanched, and he raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid, Mr. Booth, that I am very well-versed in real-estate. You won't be putting anything past me."

The man nodded meekly, and there was something almost pitiful in the way he stared ashamedly at the ground. He felt guilty, Gold realized. A man with a conscience, driven to desperation. A smirk tugged at Gold's lips.

"Mr. Booth, where do you stay?"

The man startled, looking confused, and said finally. "20th Storybrooke Lane, sir."

Gold's eyebrows raised, and he nodded in understanding, before coming to a decision. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Booth," he said, smiling and flashing his teeth at him, "if you sell this place to me for a thousand pounds, I'll forgive your rent for this month. How about that?" The man would take the bait, he knew. A house on Storybrooke Main was costly - he should know, he had bought the street a month before coming here, one of the first investments he had made in Hertfordshire. Still, he didn't mind missing one house's rent for a month- not if it bought him a place where he could conduct his affairs in private.

The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You are the new landlord? I apologize, Mr. Gold, I did not recognize you - I, I -" The man stuttered, and Gold waved a hand to stop him.

"It's quite alright, Mr. Booth." He said, with a casual flick of his fingers. "I could hardly expect you to recognize a man you've never met." He smiled, a wolfish smile that chilled Marco to his bones. Devils smiled like that, he knew. "Now, what say you to the deal?"

It was never wise to make a deal with a devil, Marco knew, but he held nodded, and held out his hand for Mr. Gold to shake anyway, for he knew that while it was not wise to make deals with devils, it was certainly foolishness to refuse one, and incur their wrath.

**xxxxxxx**

Belle  _loved_  going to town. Emma, she knew, despised it, to a certain extent. Belle felt guilty for dragging her out every week, but loved it too much to forgo it. Really, she would gladly trail around town by herself, but alas, society did not allow single women to wander around on their lonesome.

She liked the bustle. Her own home was so still - so stifled with worries that Belle could hardly enjoy herself there. The only escape she'd had was her books - and that was a luxury.

"I don't know what you could possibly like about this place." Emma murmured from beside her, tugging at her cloak. "There're always so many people around."

Belle gave her a little smile but didn't answer. This part of town  _was_  crowded, but then there were lots of things to see. She fingered some red wool - she could make gloves, she thought. Or a bookmark. She sighed, and put it back down. She had too many rolls of unused wool already, none knitted, most of them just lying around collecting dust.

She hummed a happy little tune, looking around the square. She had heard Mary Margaret say she'd be in town this evening - that would cheer Emma up, at least. The two were like sisters, Emma's sharp wit a brilliant contrast to Mary Margaret's own quieter, subtler humor.

She was so focused on finding her friend that she did not hear Emma saying, "Good evening, Mr. Gold." and then, a little softer, with a little more tenderness than she was used to hearing in Emma's voice, "Good evening, Mr. Neal."

This snapped her out of her reverie, and her eyes snapped up to see that both Mr. Neal and Mr. Gold had approached them, and were staring somewhat expectantly at her.

She hastily curtsied, almost tripping over her feet. "Good evening, Mr. Neal." She bobbed her head again. "Mr. Gold." She said, with a slight grit to her teeth.

"What are you lovely ladies doing out?" Neal asked candidly, but Belle saw how his eyes lingered on Emma, and smiled.

"We were just taking a walk." Emma said, smiling slightly. "Belle loves this part of town." Belle smiled, and took a little step backward. Not so much that it would be noticed, but enough that Emma and Neal could talk without being obligated to include her in conversation.

"Miss French, we meet again." She'd almost forgotten Mr. Gold was there. She raised her eyes to meet his, dislike for the man coiling in her stomach.

"Indeed we do." She smiled tightly. "How unfortunate." He clutched a hand to his heart, expression theatrically wounded.

"And here I was thinking you were happy to see me." He said, beginning to walk forward after his son and Emma. Belle followed and soon the two fell into step, trailing after Emma and Neal like obedient lap dogs.

"Again, Mr. Gold, you make such hasty assumptions." She said, tone dry. Belle knew that logically she should not speak so out of turn with the man - his status so far above her own and with his son's interest in Emma, she should hardly encourage any reason to dislike her family, but she found she couldn't hold her tongue. He didn't seem to mind though, if his slight chuckle was any indication.

"Ah." He said, tone mocking and brown eyes twinkling merrily. "Indeed, I should have learned my lesson." Belle's eyebrows drew upward in surprise.

"You should have." She agreed, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. They settled into a comfortable silence, listening to Baelfire chatter on to Emma and her sharp remarks in response.

"You and your sister are quite different from what I expected." Gold remarked suddenly, and Belle smiled outright at this.

"Perhaps your expectations should not be set quite so low, Mr. Gold." He eyed her carefully then, and then gave a wicked smile.

"And who said my expectations were low, Miss French?" He smirked. "Perhaps you merely failed to meet them."

Belle gave a quiet chuckle, which seemed to surprise him. "I would bet every book I had, Mr. Gold, that we exceeded them quite well." He grunted in response, seemingly unsure what to say and Belle took pleasure in his stunned silence.

"So what brought you to Hertfordshire?" She asked after some time walking around the square, Emma and Neal still quite wrapped up in their own little conversation.

"Business, mostly." He said, tone rather brusque. "A lot more properties to buy, more money to be made." Belle shook her head, smiling.

"I supposed it  _would_  have nothing to do with the scenery." Belle said wryly, and he realized with a start that she was  _teasing_ him. Why, that would not do at all.

"What scenery?" He sniped. "So far I've only seen muddy grass and intolerable women." Belle took a deep breath and Gold felt mildly satisfied at the irritation in her eyes. No one should feel comfortable enough to poke fun at him.

Belle opened her mouth to say something but before she could, Miss Swan's voice cut in. "If that's so Mr. Gold, my sister and I shall immediately remove ourselves from your company. Good day." Her voice was as cold as ice as she bobbed he perfunctory curtsy. She grabbed Belle's hand and then the two were gone, lost in the crowd.

"Have you taken leave of your senses, Papa?" Bae's voice was deceptively calm, but Gold could feel the rage beneath it.

"Bae..." Bae cut him off, holding up his hand for silence.

"Don't, Papa." Bae gave an angry sigh, rubbing his temples. Then in a quieter voice, "Sometimes I do not know what possesses you to be so cruel." He turned on his heel, stalking off into the crowd.

Gold restrained the urge to hit something.

**xxxxxxxxx**

Belle seethed. Not only had that man insulted her and all the women in Hertfordshire, he had also ruined Emma's moment with Neal - a moment she happened to know Emma had enjoyed. It wasn't often that Emma spoke so freely - something about Baelfire seemed to open her up. From what she knew of him from Emma, he was a gentleman with a quick wit and a sense of humor not to be compared. It was really too bad his father seemed to share none of his good qualities.

Mr. Gold, while quick witted indeed, was cruel and aimed to displease. If he weren't so proud, Belle thought she might consider him fairly good looking. While he certainly did not have the stature of Gaston or traditional masculinity, there was a cool grace with which he carried himself that Belle found herself oddly attracted to. She suspected it was probably due to the fact that she was constantly tripping over her own feet and spilling tea on her dresses.

"Belle?" Emma's voice broke her out of her thoughts. Her eyes snapped to Emma's face in the mirror, brushing her long golden curls out. "Would you like me to step on Gold's foot the next time we meet?"

Belle chuckled. "Emma, I'm fine. I was just considering..." She trailed off, eyes unfocused. Emma narrowed her eyes.

"What?"

"What to name your first child with Mr.Neal." Emma shot her an outraged look, but the effect was somewhat diminished by the light that shone in her eyes and the blush that rose to her cheeks.

"I will not be having any children with Neal." Emma said dryly, and Belle just smiled.

**xxxxxxxxx**

As the season had just opened, there were lots of balls for Belle and Emma to go to. Belle had been through three seasons, Emma through two and yet, Emma seemed to have more prospects than her. At least, more viable prospects, Belle thought, dismissing Gaston entirely.

She was at the Blanchard's ball, sitting out her second dance. While Sir David had initially shown some interest in her, he was now all but engaged to the Lady Kathryn, one of the richest eligible woman in all of Herfordshire. She did not begrudge this, their conversations, while pleasant, were slightly stilted. She watched the dances round the room, and her fingers itched for a book.

Emma was dancing her fifth dance in a row with Neal, who had refused to stand up with anyone else the entire evening, and Moe was making pleasant conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Blanchard while eyeing the happy couple with a pleased gleam in his eyes.

Belle sighed, feeling the boredom creep up on her as it usually did with gatherings such as this. Mary Margaret was off dancing as well, with Graham Hunter, a nice young man with very little in the way of money, but very big in the way of heart. Belle sighed, scanning the room to see who else was in attendance, her mind unwittingly fixating on one man in particular.

Mr. Gold had not been seen at any of the balls, even the ones that Neal attended, since the evening that they had met in town. She doubted very much that it was because he was ashamed, like Mary Margaret had said, but much rather thought it had something to do with Neal, and the way his face tightened every time someone so much as mentioned his father.

That was happening quite often, as of late. Mr. Gold, it seemed, had been very busy acquiring estates all over Hertfordshire, and now owned almost the whole thing. It was quite a feat, owning the whole town, but it didn't seem to have bought Mr. Gold many friends. In fact, despite him only being here a few months, it seemed that many disliked him, almost hated him. A beastly man, they all said, imperiously strict with the rent and had turned out more than one family onto the street for not being able to pay.

Despite it all, Belle did not begrudge him for kicking the Ashton's out, or the Bennet's. It was business, and Belle, while she thought he could have spared them a little kindness, understood his reasoning. Both family's were poor and it was unlikely that they'd ever be able to pay - therefore, they were not good investments and he would be wise to look for tenants that were. No, Belle did not begrudge him this.

Belle begrudged him his awful attitude and unspeakable pride.

She had almost given up the search of him when she spotted him, huddled in the corner opposite her, sipping at his drink while he watched the other people in the room. She had the insane urge to go over and strike up a conversation and she quietly marveled at what boredom could make you do. She settled back into her seat, firmly placing her hands on her lap and determinedly didn't look at him.

"Miss French," a flushed Neal appeared just after the fifth dance ended. "would you like to dance?" Belle's eyes narrowed, and she glared at Emma, who stood watching them from across the room, knowing her sister must have convinced Neal to stand up with her.

She smiled at Neal, and took his hand, letting him lead her across the room, but before he could bring her to the register to fill her card, Belle interrupted him. "Mr. Neal, I apologize, but I feel quite faint." Belle brought up her fan, waving it ineffectually at her face. "Would you perhaps consider leading me to my father?"

Neal's brows furrowed and he nodded. "But of course, Miss French." While he scanned the room for her father, Belle took the opportunity to shoot another look at Emma, who looked faintly amused.

"I cannot find your father, Miss French." Neal said presently, and Belle looked up at him, startled. "Would you mind terribly if I leave you in the company of my own?" At her alarmed expression, Neal chuckled. "While he is incapable of keeping his tongue in check, Miss French, I assure he is quite capable of making sure you do not fall over." He nodded, seemingly pleased with his solution. "Besides, I believe he has something to say to you."

Before Belle could say a word to deter him, she found herself being led across the room to where Mr. Gold stood quietly, observing. "And what is this you bring me, son?" He asked, looking both amused and awkward at the same time. Nevertheless, he took her hand and kissed it, and Belle's cheeks flamed. She knew Mr. Gold was Scottish, and society there was much different, but she couldn't help but feel embarrassed now. She had overlooked it the first time they had met because she had been so nervous, meeting a man of such high status and preoccupied with her own terror of embarrassing herself and Emma to really notice that the man was kissing her hand, but now she felt she had to say something.

"Mr. Gold, I feel obliged to tell you that in England we do not kiss hands when we meet. I know it's quite different where you're from, but - "

"I know." The look in his eyes was smug and the quirk to his lips satisfied. "I do quite enjoy the scandalous looks I receive."

"Papa!" Neal chided, although the look in his eyes was rather more amused than anything. Belle pulled her hand away hastily, and turned away from him, hiding her blush behind her fan.

"I believe you wanted to express something to Miss French." Neal said in a slightly more sober voice. "I shall leave you to it."

Neal strode away and Belle was left with Mr. Gold.

There was a moment of silence before Mr. Gold spoke. "My son has insisted that I apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you." He paused, expression impassive. "I apologize, Miss French."

Belle barely stifled her laughter. "Indeed, Mr. Gold, you have me weeping with your sincerity."

Mr. Gold cracked a smile. "I am known for bringing people to tears."

Belle did giggle then, and his face was remarkably impassive except for the slight twitch of his lips. Belle was certain he would have liked to smile, though, and counted it as a victory.

The fifth dance had ended, and Neal came up to them, red in the face and grinning.

"Miss French, are you feeling quite better now?"

She smiled, nodding. "Much better, thank you." She shot an edge-ways glance at Gold. "You're father is quite the caretaker."

Neal huffed a laugh. "What? This man?" He gestured to his father, who looked mildly offended.

"Careful now, I do still hold  _some_  of your inheritance." Gold sniped and Belle stifled a laugh.

"Come now, Pa, have a dance. There are only two left." Neal urged, looking at him pleadingly.

"I believe I'd rather imbibe cyanide." His father replied dryly, sipping at his drink. "But you go and have fun."

"Pa..." Neal's voice was almost a whine. His eyes fell on her and Belle could see the idea form in his mind before he opened his mouth. "What about Miss French? One of the prettiest ladies in the room," he smiled at her, winking, "and I'm sure she would not mind standing up with you."

Belle winced, wishing Neal hadn't phrased it in such a way. His father was as prickly as a rosebush and Lord knew he wouldn't take any insinuation that she'd be taking pity on him well, no matter how unintentional it might have been.

She felt Mr. Gold's eyes on her, and she blushed at the ground. She would not mind standing up with him, she realized, which was more than she could say for half the men in the room.

"She is tolerable, I suppose." His tone could almost be interpreted as teasing, at that particular moment, but his next words were so cruel, so cutting and degrading that it couldn't be interpreted as anything but the most brutal snub. "But not handsome enough to tempt me." He said, not even turning to face her, eyes fixed on Neal's as if she wasn't right next to the man. "And I am in no humor at present to give consequence to women that have been slighted by other men." Belle struggled not to step physically backward as her hand involuntarily flew to her mouth. She felt at once both wounded and angry, giving way to a hot, unpleasant feeling in her chest as she struggled to think what exactly she had done to deserve such unkindness.

Neal was staring at him, mouth agape. Belle brushed down her dress in silence, refusing to let the hurt show on her face. His dismissal was a carefully worded blow to where she was the most vulnerable - and judging by the look on his face, he knew this. She could feel the eyes on them. No doubt the gossip would spread fast -  _"did you hear? The French girl was snubbed - again!"_ \- and her already fragile reputation would shatter."Pa..." Neal simply shook his head, a tightness forming around his lips before he turned and bowed to her, proffering a hand. "It would be my honor, Miss French, if you would allow me a dance."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak at the moment and let Neal lead her away from Mr. Gold and his deadly tongue. The night passed without incident, but if Belle's eyes were slightly damp on the carriage home, she was determined to believe it was just some dust from the horses feet.


	3. Struck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter was my favorite to write so far, so I hope you like it as much as I do.  
> Oncer4Life69Dearie: Well, the thing is, I think you're right. He hasn't really been in love before - and I don't think that's ever factored very high on his to-do list. I think he might have thought he was in love before - and perhaps that's where Cora comes in. You'll just have to wait and see.  
> jewel415: I'm glad you liked it! (Thank you this comment gave me life)  
> snivellous: Really glad you liked it, thank you so much for your comment!:)  
> nevermore913: Thank you:) I hope you like the rest.  
> Estel_du_nord : Thank you! I hope you like the update:>

 

 

A lady’s reputation was, Belle had found, very fragile. It could bear a few things – a broken engagement was one, and perhaps if Belle wasn’t the girl they all referred to as ‘odd’, it could have borne Mr. Gold’s snub.

But, as Belle stared straight ahead with such determination she could have burned a hole in Mr. Gold’s very pretty wall, empty dance card hanging off her wrist, she realized that her reputation was shattered. Gone. All because of a bitter man with a cruel tongue.

She got up, not wishing to be humiliated any more than she already had been, and walked as inconspicuously as she could toward the powder room, hoping to find some refuge there until the night was over. She looked blindly in front of her, seeing but not seeing as panic seized her heart.

She knew it was bad because even Gaston hadn’t asked her to dance – he always was the first to ask, but even he it seemed, had faced up to the reality that Belle was undesirable – as both a dance partner and as a wife.

Her father, though he tried to hide it, was anxious at this turn of fortune. While Emma’s hand was all but secured by Neal (who hadn’t left her side the whole evening, Belle noticed), he had still made no indication, other than his undivided attention to Emma, that would suggest intention to marry. And, Belle thought with a snort, it wasn’t like his business was doing any better.

Belle stepped out of the ballroom with a sigh, leaning back against the heavy oak doors as she wondered bleakly what to do. If one of them didn’t secure a good, wealthy match, and soon… Belle pushed herself upright again and determinedly set out for the powder room. She would not endure any more uneasy eyes or smirks in her direction, whispered comments behind her back. She would _not._ She set her jaw. Especially not in that man’s ballroom.

When the invitation from the Gold’s had arrived, Belle had half a mind not to attend, or to feign some illness just to avoid the man. She came, in the end, for Emma. And for her father, because if the man reached for too many wine glasses, she knew from experience that two people would be needed to help him into the carriage.

She didn’t see the man she brushed against until it was too late, and his cane clattered to the ground with a loud crash.

They both stood completely still for a moment, and then he said ‘Miss French’ and she dropped to her knees to retrieve his cane in her scramble to avoid his eyes.

She handed the cane back to him with shaking fingers and turned, wondering if it would be completely unladylike to run in the opposite direction as fast as she could. She took a deep breath and curtseyed. “Mr. Gold.” She said, as pleasantly as she could manage. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She turned away as quickly as she could, but not quick enough, it seemed as she felt a hand curl around her elbow. She slowly turned back to him, slowly raising her eyes to his. He let go of her hand immediately, the place where he’d touched her burning like he had branded her.

“Miss French, wouldn’t you like to head back to the party?” He said, and there was something in his eyes that was almost apologetic, but she couldn’t muster up any goodwill toward the man to even attempt to forgive him for the slight that may have just cost her family their house and businesses.

And why? _Why_? She had done nothing to offend him. She had merely stood in his company for more than five minutes, which, Belle thought, was a great feat indeed. She’d even laughed with him, shared his humour. She’d done nothing terrible to him. In fact, she’d borne a lot more injustice from him that he had from her.

“I would rather not be in the company of people currently, Mr. Gold.” She said, the words feeling thick and unsteady on her tongue.

“Miss French,” he said, and with an almost awkward tilt of his head, “I am sure many will… Miss your presence. I was just heading in myself…” He said, trailing off, as he gestured toward the doors. “Perhaps I could escort you in?”

Belle’s temper snapped. “Why? So you can further damage my reputation?” If he was shocked by her outburst, it didn’t show and so she continued, the pent up frustration expanding in her chest like a hot air balloon. “Mr. Gold, I would rather slit my throat than walk into that room once more this evening and be cut by every single person in attendance other than my sister, Miss Blanchard and your son.” She turned on her heel, stalking toward the entrance to his house with a final, parting shot thrown over her shoulder. “And even if I would go back in, the last person I would do so with, is _you_.”

The doors to his house slammed shut with a dramatic finality, and Gold was left alone in his foyer.

**…**

David was not the type to question his decisions, but he found himself questioning more than once that evening the choice of woman he had chosen to have on his arm.

She was _insufferable._

He felt it difficult to maintain a conversation with her for more than two minutes, and found it even more difficult to restrain his temper when she questioned every choice he made. Why did he wear that shirt? Those shoes? Didn’t he know they clashed with her fan?

No, he didn’t bloody know.

He sighed at the cool night air on his face. The choice to romance her hadn’t come easy, but his mother was sick at home and she was the richest lady in the town. Her father had wanted a soldier as her husband, and he had used it to his advantage, smiling at her in a way her father was sure to notice and making sure to ask her to dance at least twice in an evening. It was tiresome, but his mother was dying and he couldn’t very well ask the Gold’s for the money – not after everything they’d already done for him.

“Rough night, huh?” He glanced over, startled, and saw Miss Blanchard, the youngest of Leopold Blanchard, a wealthy (but not wealthy enough) shipping magnate.

He eyed her carefully before replying. “I suppose.” He tried for a smile, but was aware it didn’t quite pass. “And what about you, Miss Blanchard?”

She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. “Call me Snow, please.” At his stricken look she gave a little laugh. “It’s a nickname, Charming.” She giggled, snorting. “Don’t look so scandalized, I can assure you I’m not trying to flash my knickers at you.”

He was quite aware he was gaping at her like a fish, but was unsure how to stop. Clearing his throat, he said, “My name is David.”

She laughed again, and he thought it sounded both lovely and infuriating at the same time. She shook her head and smiled with a smile that was most definitely infuriating. “Nah. Charming suits you.”

Unsure of what to say next, he gave a little bow and walked back toward the party, mind filled with black curls and brown eyes and the warmest laugh he’d heard since he had come to Hertfordshire.

**….**

Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever smiled so much in her life, but she wasn’t even sure how she could _stop_.

Neal was the funniest man she’d ever met – not much of a statement, considering how many men she really had known in her life and liked, but nonetheless she found the title impressive in her mind.

“And so what did you say to him after that?” Emma couldn’t help but ask.

He chuckled, and Emma felt a warm burst in her chest when she saw him smile that way. He had a lovely smile. “Well I told him my father was a haymaker and all the hay on my person was from my father’s house, and definitely not from falling into a pile of his hay after trying to steal apples from his tree.”

Emma snorted, nudging at him with her elbow. “Truly? I bet I could think of better excuses than that.”

Neal scoffed with feigned incredulity. “Really?” Emma nodded and he scoffed again. “Have at it then.”

Emma paused for a moment, truly considering it, and came up frustratingly blank. She shook her head and they collapsed into laughter once more, drawing rude stares which Emma brushed off. This was Neal’s ball, after all, and she was enjoying herself with the host, so they could stare rudely at her all they liked but she wasn’t about to stifle her laughter to appear more ladylike.

“So have you ever gotten in trouble, Miss Swan?” He teased after they’d gotten a hold of themselves.

Emma gave him a wry smile. “Of course. If you talk to Mr. French, he’ll talk for hours of all the trouble I caused him.”

Neal looked intrigued and so Emma decided to regale him with one of the tales of her exploits. “Well, when Mr. French took me in, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call… A lady.”  She quirked her lips at him when he laughed out loud.

“Some may argue that you’re still not, Miss Swan;” he said, seemingly having trouble keeping a straight face. “you curse like a sailor.”

Emma glared at him, pursing her lips. “You promised not to talk about that.” She hissed, folding her arms. She had sworn _once_ in front of the man (not even her most impressive words), and he had refused to let it rest since.

“And you promised to teach me to ride a horse.” He countered. “Until your promise had been fulfilled, I am under no obligation to fulfil mine.”

She smiled, twirling the thin stem of her glass between her fingers. “I would love to,” she said sincerely, “but you are aware of the rules – I am not allowed to call on an unmarried gentleman at his place of residence.”

Neal simply laughed. “Then why don’t I call on you, Miss French? You must have horses of some kind at that farm of yours.”

Emma stared at him, open-mouthed. “You wouldn’t mind coming to the farm?” She asked, eyes narrowing when he nodded. “The farm full of dung, dirt and animals that do not smell savoury?” She reiterated, and raised her eyebrows when he nodded again.

He shrugged, smiling that beautiful, cocksure almost-smirk of his. “I shall have to learn to ride a horse sometime, Miss Swan,” he said, dark eyes twinkling. “and when I do, I’d rather it be with you.”

The way he looked at her was heat and affection, and with a start Emma realized she was looking at him in the same way. She smiled shyly, and lifted her glass to his.

**…**

Belle was sitting up in bed reading when Mr. Hopper knocked at her door the next morning. It was a bright, clear morning with blue skies and perfect little clouds and it poked at her bleak mood, gently nudging it away.

Things weren’t _that_ bad, she decided. Emma had come away from last night with a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes which was so unfamiliar on her that Belle had to stop herself from gawking. It comforted her to know that if Emma did marry Neal, that she’d be happy with him. In love.

Belle turned back to her book, relishing in the tragedy as the words ran over her mind like water.

_Isabelle turned away from the beast – no, the **man** , blindly walking away from him, tears fogging up her eyes and rendering them useless. It didn’t matter, she knew this place, knew this castle, this dungeon like the back of her hand._

_“My power means more to me, than you.” He had sneered, face contorting nastily. “Now, **go**.”_

That’s when she had heard Mr. Hopper knock at the door. She stuffed the book under her pillow quickly. It was an old one – covered with dust from being under her bed too long, but Belle hadn’t remembered ever reading it. She wondered briefly if it was Emma’s and then shook her head, brow furrowed in thought as she moved to open her door, she had read all of Emma’s books. Chalking it up to luck, Belle opened the door, smiling at Archie.

“Yes, Archie?”

“Miss French, there’s a gentleman caller at the door.”

Belle’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t Papa around – I thought he wasn’t due back at the farm till –“

“No, Miss French.” Archie frowned, looking perplexed. “He’s called on you.”

Belle bit her lip. “Is it Sir Gaston?”

Archie sighed. “Indeed, Miss French.”

Belle sighed. “I’ll be down in a minute. Tell him to wait.”

Archie gave a prim nod and Belle turned to the mirror, checking her dress for any tea stains (or any other stains – Belle had a talent for falling into things) before finally deciding she was presentable enough to be seen. She rushed down the stairs, not bothering to try and be ladylike. Gaston had been chasing after her long enough to know what she was like, and she doubted a few rushed steps toward him would change his mind.

She remembered the night before, when he’d very deliberately cut her, and worried at her lip. _That was,_ she thought belatedly as the man in question came into view, _if he hadn’t already._ And if Gaston didn’t want her anymore, who would?

**…**

“Do not trouble me with this anymore, Bae.” Gold snapped at his son over breakfast the same morning. “I tried to apologize – she was unwilling to forgive me.” He poked at his egg testily. “Let it go.”

If there was one single thing that Gold disliked about his son – it was his tenacity.

“I will not.” Gold sighed, leaning back in his chair as he looked over at his son. Bae was dressed oddly this morning, he noticed, his fine silks and frankly appallingly coloured cravats gone, dressed simply in riding trousers and a simple black overcoat. He dismissed this in favour of returning to their conversation. If his son was finally going to dress sensibly, who was he to complain?

“Why does this mean so much to you, Bae?” He sighed, rubbing at his temples. “I believed you were infatuated with Miss Swan, not Miss French.”

Bae sighed, but his sounded more angry than tired. “Papa,” he said, and there was a cool anger colouring his tone that Gold hadn’t heard before. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve done to Belle’s prospects.”

Gold shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He _did_ know – Miss French had told him, not in those exact words, but the meaning to her words had been clear.

 _“Why? So you can further damage my reputation?”_ The girl had snapped at him angrily. Her passion was marvellous, he thought; if most people were as passionate about paying their rent as she was about her anger, he’d have a lot less evictions to hand out.

“I cannot see how a few passing words have so badly damaged the woman’s reputation.” He did know. He had known why before the words had cut out of his mouth.

Miss French was an irregularity in the frankly dull society of Hertfordshire. She was intelligent, wise beyond her years and from what he had discerned, unable to hide it like a sensible lady should have. This society, rather unfortunately, was not one for women like her - men did not want women who knew things. They wanted sheep that would follow their command like law. Personally, he couldn’t see the attraction of having a wife without a brain cell to spare, but perhaps that was why he was no longer married.

That, and a man named Killian Jones.

“Papa, Belle is –“he waved a hand impatiently. “Different. You must have noticed.” He gave his father a look, and Gold conceded.

“Fine. So I have ruined her prospects for all eternity,” he said with a dry smile. “What would you have me do?”

“Fix it, Papa.” Bae got up suddenly, grabbing the tall top hat Jefferson must have left behind from the table and planting it on his head. “Set this right for her.” He said more quietly, stopping beside his father’s chair. “She’s a good person, Papa, and more than that, she was the one that convinced Mr. French to take Emma in. She would have died, if not for Belle.” His son stopped, licking his lips nervously before he spoke. “Please, Papa… For me.”

His son departed, the doors shutting behind him with a click. Gold stared at his unfinished breakfast for a moment before he got up, swearing as he reached for his coat and called for a carriage.

**…**

“Please, sit.” Belle gestured nervously to the chairs. Gaston did, unsmiling and she felt her throat go dry. If he was about to dole out more damage to her poor reputation, Belle didn’t know what she was going to do. Raid the wine cupboard, probably. It seemed unlikely that Gaston could further break her reputation, however. He wasn’t cutting enough, or cruel, either. In fact, if he wasn’t always trying to marry her, she would consider him a friend.

She and Gaston had known each other their whole lives. He had been in the poorhouse once, when he was a boy, and Belle couldn’t help but notice how much nicer he had used to be. He hadn’t been proud or rude, just playful and maybe just a little dim.

They had played together once, before his father inherited the money and he had moved to a bigger house up the road. He hadn’t played with her anymore then, but instead returned a few years later to court her. She couldn’t help but be reluctant. Wealth had inflated his already huge ego, and he always acted like he was doing her a favour by showing interest. Belle didn’t like that at all – she was a gentleman’s daughter, he was a gentleman’s son, and therefore, in her mind, they were equals. At this point, however, she wasn’t sure if she had any other choice.

“Belle, I am sure you know the reason of this visit.” He said loudly, as if she were halfway across the room and not merely a foot away.

Belle simply blinked. “No, I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea why you are here.”

He sighed, getting up and dropping to one knee with a flourish. “I am here to ask your hand in marriage, Belle.”

Belle blinked again. Once, twice, three times.

“Are you deaf, woman?” She heard Gaston say, but his voice had blurred in her mind as she simply stared at him.

She didn’t know what to do. He must have asked her father already, and he must have accepted – but wouldn’t her father tell her? He surely wouldn’t leave her to be surprised like this – would he?

“Did you ask my father?” She asked, and her voice sounded different, cooler somehow, and definitely much calmer than she felt.

“Of course. He agreed immediately.” Of course he did, he knew she didn't have many other options. Belle opened her mouth to say something, but just at that moment, Archie re-entered the room, looking extremely harried.

“Miss French, there’s another gentleman caller; he requests to speak with you immediately.” Belle was grateful for the interruption, and rushed out, leaving Gaston on one knee and ignoring him as he shouted after her.

She ran down the stairs, not sure who she was hoping was in the foyer, but not really caring as long as it got her away from Gaston and his infernal question. She could hug whoever it was, she could kiss his feet, she could –

It was Mr. Gold.

Her steps slowed, and she stepped off the final step as if in a daze. She curtseyed slowly, dropping her eyes from his. He was looking at her too intensely, dark eyes blazing and hot, and it made her insides tingle somewhat uncomfortably.

“Mr. Gold.”

“Miss French.” He took a step forward, and opened his mouth as if about something, but then she heard Gaston’s footsteps on the stairs, loud and disturbing, his panted breath and then finally, “So when should we set the date?”

Gaston seemed to finally realize they were not alone and bowed meekly to Mr. Gold. “What brings you here, Mr. Gold?”

The man didn’t reply, eyes flicking from her to Gaston, before he said, in that cold voice she hated so much, “It seems I am not needed here after all.” And then he turned on his heel and walked out of her house.

She didn’t care about being lady-like anymore.

She ran after him.

**…**

“Mr. Gold!” She was calling after him, but he ignored her, nodding to Dove as he made his way to his carriage.

She caught up with him just as he was about to climb in, and he raised his eyebrows at her, one foot in the carriage.

“Please move out of my way, Miss French, unless you plan on journeying with me.”

“Why did you come?” She asked, a little breathlessly. He looked at her then, hair falling halfway out of her bun, cheeks flushed and eyes that damnable shade of blue.

“I was here to offer help out of your dire straits, Miss French, which I apparently put you in after a comment that may or may not have been in bad taste was made.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms over her chest. “How were you planning to help me?” She asked.

“I was going to offer you a job as a caretaker in my estate. I believed it to be a respectable solution which would largely help your financial situation, if what I hear is to be believed.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and he watched with curiosity as she bit the inside of her cheek before he continued, “But as I see it, a proposal has already been made, and therefore such an arrangement would be unnecessary.” He tipped his head in her direction, and stepped into his carriage, almost gawking at the girl in surprise when she followed him in.

“I do not wish to marry Gaston.” She said, the words falling from her lips in a rush. “I know I should and it is my duty but I do not, Mr. Gold.” She fell silent, and he waited for her to continue, intrigued.

When she didn’t continue, he prompted her in a way that he considered to be gentle. “Was there a point of following me into my carriage, Miss French, or are we just trying to break all semblance of propriety now?” He smirked, and she glared at him.

“Is the offer still available, Mr. Gold?” She asked archly, with the poise and purpose of a queen. He arched an eyebrow at her, leaning back in his seat as he considered her. She would be a distraction; he could tell that already, with that mouth of hers and, he grudgingly admitted, her beauty. He had come to her because his son had wanted him to give her a way out – she had one already, with Sir Gaston, and yet she was willingly turning to him. It was a turnabout from how things usually went with his arrangements, and that, he assured himself, was the real reason the whole thing intrigued him, that and not the woman that sat in front of him.

“If you accept it,” he warned, wanting to be clear so she wouldn’t accuse him of cheating her out of something later as they always did, “you will be at my beck and call. Your stay will be indefinite, completely up to me – you will of course, be paid – 500 pounds per month.“ He watched as her eyes lit up, and he saw something in those blue eyes that he hadn’t seen directed his way in a very long time. Hope.

“Do you accept dearie?”

 “Yes.” She said, with no hesitation, holding a hand out to shake.

He took her hand, smiling wolfishly at her.

“Then the deal is struck.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I had to do it. It was imperative for my Rumbelle needs. I hope you like it!:)


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